


I Feel the Magic

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Series: Sunshine [5]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Clint Barton, Comfort, Farmer’s market, Feelings, M/M, Sweet smoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: Clint takes Bucky to the Farmer’s Market.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Sunshine [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688101
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	I Feel the Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Reaching out, for the highs  
> You inspired me to try  
> I felt the magic inside  
> And I felt that I could fly  
> I'm looking at the world in an optimistic light  
> You made me appreciate my life  
> 'Cos when you came you were my
> 
> Sunshine through my window  
> That's what you are  
> My shining star  
> Sunshine  
> Making me feel like  
> I'm on top of the world  
> Telling me I'll go far
> 
> -Sunshine, Gabrielle

“You look ridiculous.”

“I look fabulous. Also, skin care, it’s a thing, Barnes.”

“I just don’t know why you can’t wear a baseball cap like a normal mug.”

“Clint doesn’t do ‘normal’.”

“Thank you for having my back, Tasha. And the hat.”

‘The hat’ is a black and white monstrosity that on Natasha’s petite frame makes her look like a silver screen princess but makes Barton look like he just stepped out of a clown car.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Was, too. You hate normal.”

“I do not hate ‘normal’, I’ve just come to accept that you and normal are mutually exclusive. Now, go. You’re blocking my light.”

“You’re wearing, like, millions of SPFs in sunscreen, more light would reach your skin in an underground bunker.”

“And yet.”

“Fine. Come on, Buck, let’s go somewhere where people appreciate me.”

“Clown College?”

“Nah, already got my masters,” he says and does a backward one handed cartwheel towards the door, his other hand keeping Natasha’s hat in place, “We’re going to the farmer’s market.

“The what now?” Bucky says, following him like a duckling.

“I’m going to get some tomatoes.”

“Ew, why? Do your salads need more flavorless pink rocks?”

“You’ll see.”

~~~

It takes about a half hour to get there from the compound. They take Tony’s Spyder with the top down; Clint makes Bucky drive so that he can keep one hand on that silly hat as he waxes lyrical about the wonders of the farmer’s market.

“Wait’ll you meet Clive. He’s a hoot and a half. He’s like a hundred and knows everything about everybody.”

Bucky hums noncommittally, focusing on the drive, listening more to the comforting tone and rhythm of Clint’s voice than his actual words.

They get into town and Clint gives him directions, left at the little 1800’s schoolhouse with a big brass bell, two blocks past the post office that looks even smaller, past the strip mall with a laundromat, doughnut shop, and consignment store.

“We park here,” he says as they get to the library. The lot looks full, and eventually Bucky says, “I can drop you off and then look for something down the street.”

“Nah, most of the streets around here don’t allow parking for the market and, anyway, where you go I go; you know that, babe.”

Bucky warms because he does know, he just forgets sometimes. He can feel the tips of his ears go pink and regrets not listening to Clint about grabbing a hat of his own.

“Oh, hey! There!” Clint says, saving Bucky from embarrassing himself; he knows Clint loves it when he gets sappy, but Bucky prefers to save it for when he can whisper in his ear.

The library is next to a park full of old growth trees and rolling hills of neatly mowed grass, the air smells green and cool as they walk through the dappled sunlight.

Bucky reaches out with his flesh hand, grabbing Clint’s so that they can swing their hands between them and Clint bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s with a grin.

They come out of the trees to a baseball diamond, rows and rows of booths spilling into the outfield.

Clint walks them to an empty booth with a canopy of thick blue and white stripes and a man who can only be Clive. He’s wearing a VFW ball cap and a loose bowling shirt in blue and yellow; his pale skin looks thin and papery, even his wrinkles have wrinkles, but they’re particularly deep around his laugh lines and his dark brown eyes seem to sparkle.

Bucky likes him instantly.

“Clive! Looking good, man.”

“Feeling good, kid. They got me on this new amodroxi-whatsit. I feel like I’m eighty again; see,” he holds up a hand and makes a fist a couple times.

“That’s great! Betcha the ladies love it.”

“Gotta beat ‘em off with a stick; I keep tellin’ em ain’t nobody for me but Maddie, but it don’t stop ‘em from baking me pies and what not, so’s I can’t complain. Maddie don’t complain none, either.”

“That’s because she knows you’ll give her some of your crusts,” Clint walks around the booth and crouches down, Bucky leans over the table to see a mutt of indeterminate breeding that had been hidden by the tablecloth lifting her chin to get Clint scritches, “Isn’t that right, Maddie-girl.”

“I do spoil her something fierce.”

Clint smiles up at Bucky, “That’s what we do for the ones we love,” and Bucky knows Clint means him.

Clint stands and pulls a couple wrinkled bills out of his pocket and Clive takes out a small metal lock box and sets it on the table, otherwise bare except for a vase filled with a protrusion of flowers with no rhyme or reason to the arrangement.

“What’s good today?”

“The Dillon boys’ sweet corn came in, if you're lucky there may still be some left; Petunia’s on a brownie kick, and Mary Ellen has been growing strawberries. Oh,” he says with a sly smile, “Stephanio is here today.”

“Sorry, Maddie! We gotta go!” Clint says with one last pet.

“Wait, here,” Clive stops Clint and hands him a flower, “For your fella.”

Clint smiles, taking it and tucking it behind Bucky’s ear and damn it, he’s blushing again, “Come on, Buck!”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Bucky says as Clint pulls him away.

~~~

“So what does Stephanio sell?”

“Crepes.”

“Crepes? We ate before we left,” Bucky laughs.

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“I have knock off super solider metabolism and even I’m not hungry yet.”

“Trust me.”

And just like that, he does.

They get to the crepe booth and there’s a line that winds through the market; when they get close enough Bucky starts reading the menu, though he really isn’t hungry and figures he will just let Clint order something and Bucky will try a bite of whatever he gets.

He’s expecting Clint to get something as over the top as he is, like the prosciutto, arugula, fig, honey, and chèvre, or the Nutella, strawberry and banana with whipped cream, but Clint surprises him.

“Hey Joey, one Citron, please.”

Bucky looks at Clint with surprise. It’s the plainest thing on the menu, fresh squeezed lemon juice and powered sugar.

“Here,” Clint says once they have it, it’s folded in half and then in thirds and wrapped in parchment paper kind of like an ice cream cone. Clint tears off a piece from somewhere about halfway down and holds it up to Bucky’s mouth.

The flavor bursts across Bucky’s tongue like sunshine, the perfect blend of sweet and tart and citrus and Bucky moans, “Oh my God, _Clint.”_

“I know, right?” He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips and then hums happily as he taste his own lips before taking a monster bite of the crepe, nearly half of it gone like a snap.

Bucky laughs and links his metal arm through Clint’s and they start strolling through the market, Bucky stealing as many bites as he can.

They wander aimlessly, stopping at everything that piques either of their interests. In between the flowers, fruits, and vegetables are handcrafted items of every stripe. There’s a booth with delicate hand carved boxes that fit in the palm of your hand, and one with pillows and towels and such embroidered with profanity, and hand rolled beeswax candles that smell light and sweet.

Clint has been nervous near Honey’s Honey, and when Bucky asks he says, “Not much for beekeepers.”

“Beekeepers?”

“Yeah, cuz of— oh, wait, you haven’t had to deal with AIM yet, have you?” And then Clint’s regaling him with a tale of evil super scientists who wear giant yellow beekeeper outfits; Bucky would question his sanity, but they fought a talking octopus just last week, so he supposes there are weirder things than solar powered doomsday devices.

They get to the tomato booth Clint’s been looking for, their arms loaded up with canvas sacks already full of goodies to take back to the compound. Like most of the booths there are samples out, and they aren’t like any tomatoes he’s seen in the twenty first century; deep red but still firm and the flavor is even better than the ones Ma used to grow in her flower box.

“Wow.”

“Good?” Clint asks, as if he doesn’t know.

“Amazing.”

“Hey, Carlos, a dozen Glamours and three green, please.”

“I thought part of the fun was picking out your own?” Bucky asks.

“Carlos is an expert at picking out the best.”

“They’re all his best, Clinton,” an older Hispanic woman comes out from behind the canvas wall backing the booth.

“I mean the best of the best, Mary.”

She huffs at him, “I told you, call me Tia.”

“How are things, Tia,” Clint asks obediently.

“That fence of your’s is still standing, even after last winter did everything it could to tear it down. You should come back out to the farm sometime, sweet boy, the horses miss you.”

“I promise. Hey, Bucky, do you like riding?”

Bucky shrugs, “Wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, we definitely need to go! Maybe next Saturday?” Clint looks at Mary and Bucky expectantly.

“Okay,” Bucky says, “Barring any emergencies.”

“Come around noon, I will cook you boys some lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Clint says, but at her stern look follows up with, “But we wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

~~~

They’re winding their way back through the trees towards the car when Bucky asks, “You fixed their fence?”

“Yeah, and did some other chores; there’s always something needing doing on a farm.”

“Been on a lot of farms then, circus boy?”

Clint gets quiet and serious in a way he seldom does; and Bucky lets it go.

~~~

The drive back is quiet, until Clint says, “I grew up on a farm. Before.”

Bucky hums softly, letting Clint know he’s listening, but that is okay if that’s all that Clint wants to say.

“Before the accident. We had rows and rows of corn, and a dairy cow. A couple of horses and a chicken coop. Dad always worked hard, and loved harder. Mom’s kitchen always smelled like fresh baked bread,” he sighs, “Barney and I used to play in the corn fields in between school and chores. We’d get lost for hours until Mom would ring the triangle, callin’ us in for supper or bed.”

“That sounds really nice.”

“It was perfect.”

Bucky takes his hand, linking their fingers together and bringing it up to kiss Clint’s knuckles.

“Thank you for today,” Bucky says.

Clint sighs happily and leans in to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder, crushing that absurd hat up against Bucky and drowsing the rest of the ride home.

~~~

That night, after a dinner with Natasha of fried green tomato BLT’s and a summer salad made with the Glamour tomatoes and some cucumbers they had picked up, Bucky takes the flower from his ear, careful as he untangles it from his hair as it’s a little worse for wear.

He presses it between the last page of a hard backed book of poetry and squeezes it back into the shelf, a secret to surprise himself with later, a little piece of sunshine whenever he needs it.

He looks fondly over to Clint, already snuggled under the sheets and knows he never will; he already has all the sunshine he’ll could ever want.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s still a couple of days left on the Charity Hawktion; bidding is open until 10 pm UK time, Saturday June 20th. 
> 
> My entry is [here](https://charityhawktion.tumblr.com/post/620805354728636416/paraprosdokia-hawktion-contributor-page), and a full list of offerings [here](https://charityhawktion.tumblr.com/post/620849378034401280/hawktion-2020-creator-masterlist).
> 
> You can also find my tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paraprosdokia), where my ask box is always anonymous and always open.
> 
> As always, please let me know if you see any typos.


End file.
